Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien
by x-HotMess
Summary: No kick is ever going to bring him back. And it's my fault. Arthur/Ariadne.


"_Dreams feel real while we're in them. It's only when we wake up we realise something was actually strange."

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_

She stares at the blank eyes, the vacant smile, the pale skin that seems to be absorbing the colour of the bleached white hospital sheets.

He stares at the wide eyes, the set jaw, the soft cheeks drained of the pink colour that used to make her beautiful.

"Are you ready to go?" he says quietly, his usual stony demeanour softened by her fragile face.

She presses her lips together, transforming her mouth into a grim colourless line. "He's not waking up today."

"No."

He wants to shake her shoulders and scream in her face. Slap the denial right out of her. But he won't. That's not him.

She stands and squeezes the limp hand on the hospital bed, taking care to avoid the IV needle inserted into the translucent veins. He grimaces and looks away as she kisses Cobb's forehead lightly. Then she's brushing past him out the door and hurrying down the corridor. He follows at a carefully calculated distance.

She doesn't stop as the doors to the hospital entrance whoosh open to let her leave. She just keeps on walking until he's gone from seven steps behind her to just one. She stops and takes a seat on the bench at a bus stop. He sits at the opposite end.

"It's been a week, Arthur," her voice wavers and he clenches his fists.

"I know," he sighs, easing the tension from his muscles, rolling his shoulders, closing his eyes.

"He's been down there for 20 years. Why hasn't he found Saito yet?" she buries her face in her hands because she has too much pride to let him see her cry.

"…Maybe he has," he hesitates before saying the words she doesn't want to hear.

She shakes her head and rubs her eyes, pushing the tears backwards. "If he'd found him, they'd be awake."

"Not necessarily," his even tone is infuriating, and she shoots him a withering glare.

"Well then what?" she snaps, "They're stuck down there forever?"

His silence is his answer.

"You're wrong," she hisses, jerking her hand away as he reaches for it.

She stands suddenly and walks away, and this time he doesn't follow her. He knows where she's going. She doesn't have much place else to go.

He knocks on the door of her hotel room that night, but she doesn't answer. He grits his teeth and with the ease that comes from years of experience, he picks the lock and slips in.

She's flat on her back on the queen size bed, hooked up to his silver suitcase, her eyelids quivering as she dreams. He frowns, and lies down next to her, examining the curve of her lips, her spiky eyelashes, her hair fluttering to and fro and she breathes deeply.

He can't explain what's gotten him tangled up inside. His thoughts are usually meticulously straightforward, but not with this, not with her. He misses Cobb too, more than he can say. They'd worked together for years in real time, decades in dreams. But with Cobb's disregard for his own rules and self-destructive streak, he has always been prepared to lose him.

What right has this girl who had only known him for months have to be so much more attached? What gave her so much faith in Cobb's return? He feels a pang of unfamiliar jealousy at the thought of her knowing something he doesn't. He can't pinpoint whether it was directed at Cobb for giving up such a part of himself that he had never showed anyone, or at her, for taking what he gave without a second thought to share it.

He reaches across her unconscious body, pulling another needle from the suitcase and carefully inserting it into the soft skin under his wrist. Feeling himself slip into darkness, he grasps for the warmth of her hand, entwining his fingers with hers as the world goes black.

It's still dark in her dream; the only source of light comes from the lightening that glows in the thick clouds that growl with thunder. Buildings have no windows or doors, and the landscape is nothing but wet concrete and dead trees. His chest tightens with empathy. So this is what her dreams have become.

She's crouched in the middle of the road, muttering to herself, tipping her bishop back and forth, only to have it halt an inch from hitting the ground. She shouts in frustration and straightens, gasping in shock when she sees him.

"What are you doing here?" she exclaims in a mix of anger and fright.

"I could ask you the same thing," he approaches her as she folds her arms defensively across her chest.

"It's _my_ dream," she retorts indignantly.

"And what a pleasant place it is," he shoots back, his sarcasm earning him another scowl.

In an instant the dark clouds have rolled away, leaving only wispy white cotton puffs floating lazily in front of a dusky sun. The ominous buildings shrink back into the ground that is now dew-covered grass, and the trees sprout leaves, fruit and flowers at speed. There's a shimmering lake lapping at their feet, and he allows himself to smile at her rebelliously cocked eyebrows.

"Now this is more like it."

"This is useless," she frowns. "This means nothing. It serves no purpose."

"What purpose are you trying to serve?" he presses, taking a step towards her.

She counteracts by taking a step back. "I think I can find him."

There's a crack of lightening in the distance, followed by a deep rumble, but it's not her this time.

"Why do you even want to?" he murmurs, "Even if you do, he'll go to prison for the rest of his life without Saito."

"You said he might have found him already!" There's a spark of hope in her eyes, and he's not sure if he has the will to put it out.

"And then what? Cobb goes home to his family and you never see him again?" It's the gentlest argument he can think of.

The corners of her mouth tilt down in resentment, but she's quick to flare up again. "Maybe, but at least he'll be in reality!"

"His dream is reality now! Who are you to tell him any different?" he echoes the sentiments he once heard from a man in Mombasa, in what seemed like a lifetime ago.

She's broken now. "You don't understand!" she screeches, as the menacing sky rushes forward again. "I have to fix this!"

"Cobb's not coming back, Ariadne!" he yells, reacting to the change in atmosphere. "He's too deep. No kick will ever be enough to wake him up. The sooner you realise that, the sooner you can start loving someone else."

They stare each other down, icy eyes trying to freeze out the other, until Moonlight Sonata begins to resonate around them.

"What's that?" he wrinkles his forehead and looks up at the sky.

"Beethoven," she shrugs. "The dream is ending."

"What happened to Edith Piaf?" he looks back at her defiant face, challenging him to doubt her decision.

"I thought it was time for a change," she transfers her steely gaze to the slick pavement. "I was getting a little tired of the irony, you know?"

He knows.

She wakes up first, and she's somewhat comforted by how close he is. But then she remembers his cruel words and sits up, pulling the needle out of her skin.

His eyes open and search for her right away, his fingers enclosing around her hand that wasn't there. He's wracked with guilt as he focuses on her devastated face, and sits to face her.

"I'm sorry," he apologises hurriedly. "I didn't mean…"

"Yes, you did," she tucks her ankles under herself and picks at the fraying corner of the quilted bedspread. "But you're wrong."

He chews on the inside of his cheek, deciding not to argue. "Well, if you think you can find him in Limbo, I'm sure there's someway I can help."

"No," she shakes her head, and a teardrop lands in her lap. "Not that. I don't love him. At least, not like that."

"Oh," he feels the air pressing in around him, and he loosens his tie slightly. "Well, you know, that's your business."

"Just shut up," she scoffs, making it clear she didn't need any pity. "It's my fault he's down there."

"You can't blame yourself," he wants to hold her hand again, just for a moment, to remind her she wasn't alone in her guilt at how the operation turned out.

"I can, and I will," she stands and moves over to the window seat, neither of them enjoying the coldness that the distance brought. "It didn't work."

"What didn't work?" he leans closer for no real reason, she's already far away.

"His inception," she cups her hand around her mouth to stifle a sob.

"But it did," he replies soothingly. "Fischer dissolved his father's empire. It's all over the news."

"No. No. Not that inception. Cobb's inception," she brushes her hair off her forehead and stares at him beseechingly. "I thought, you know, maybe if I helped him in the right direction, he would figure it out on his own."

"Wait," his heart rises up his throat. "Are you saying that you performed inception on Cobb?"

"I tried," her shoulders sagged and a fresh set of tears streaked down her cheeks. "But I went about it all wrong. I took advantage of his shame and ran with it. I tried to understand it, understand him, what he had with Mal, all that they had been, all that he had lost. But I could never have understood."

She wiped under her eyes with the knuckle of her index finger. "Imagine how happy he would have been, seeing his kids' faces again. And now he's gone."

He can't bear the sight of her shaking by herself anymore. He goes to the seat beside her, careful not to get too close, and lays a kindly hand on her shoulder.

"Ariadne, you couldn't have known what was going to happen," he cups her cheek in the other hand. "Trying to spontaneously incept an idea, the whole business is unpredictable."

Her eyes flutter shut and she covers the hand on her face with her fingers. "But I really tried. I thought about it, hard. I thought maybe if he could just get the idea in his head, he wouldn't be putting us in danger and he could be free of her."

Without them noticing, his arm has snaked around her shoulders, and her head comes to lie on his chest. "What idea?"

She bites her lip. "You never saw his dreams, did you?"

"I saw enough of Mal to never want to go there," he swallows the lump in his throat at the memory of his friend constantly being haunted by his wife's projection.

"They were memories. Regrets," she whispers, feeling ashamed at her intrusion as she remembers. "I didn't want him to end up an old man, filled with regret."

"So you tried to convince him to destroy her. His greatest regret," he breathes out, finally understanding.

She pulls away, frowning at him. "Not destroy her. Just… let her go. They were together in limbo for ages. They really did grow old together. He kept his promise. And I think he forgot that."

He nods, holding both her hands in his lap. "But he could never forgive himself for making her think that her world wasn't real, until his world was no longer real."

She shakes her head from side to side, before her throat closes in grief. "How did you know that? How do you know what she did?"

"She told me once. His subconscious wanted me to know, even if he couldn't say it aloud."

There's no more to be said, and the shadows of confessions linger between them.

"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter anymore," she tries not to cry again, but her body overpowers her mind. "If he's not coming back."

He softly presses his lips against her cheek, tasting the salt of her guilty tears.

"Don't do this to yourself. Don't become him."

"But he never would have gone down there if I hadn't tried to convince him he had nothing left to regret," she's gasping for air as her insides crumble.

"If you hadn't tried, he'd still be on the run as a guilty man, with a heavy heart, laden with guilt," he draws her in closer, and tightens his embrace. "Maybe he's happier where he is now."

"But he's dreaming. It's not real," her hands clasp together at the base of his neck and he lifts her up, carrying her back over to the bed.

"His feelings are real," he murmurs as he lays back on the pillows, adjusting her to rest beside him. "And his pain is gone."

She feels lighter at the thought, and buries her nose in the crook of his neck. A smiles dashes across his lips and he gently kisses the top of her head. They hold each other and wait to fall asleep, eager and yet terrified to learn of what will fill their dreams tonight. As the thick sensation of slumber consumes them, a final question begs to be resolved.

"Arthur?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you ever wish you could go back? Before you learned just how infinite the dreamscape was?" her lips moves against his shirt, tracing the words over his chest. "Do you regret knowing?"

"No," he answers, after a pause. "No, I regret nothing."

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**a/n: BWAAAAAAAARRRM.  
****awesomest movie ever.  
****this is not my personal interpretation, but it was an interesting theory to work with.  
****please review and tell me what you thought!**


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